


Potion Play

by orphan_account



Series: Spies Are For Sluttery [2]
Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, BDSM, Bath Sex, Bathing/Washing, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bratting, Butt Plugs, Chess, Collars, Comeplay, Dom/sub, Edgeplay, Face-Fucking, Feeding, First Time Bottoming, Fisting, Hand Feeding, Kneeling, Leashes, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Master/Slave, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Restraints, Spanking, Strip Chess, Switching, Toast, Topping from the Bottom, Truth Serum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 01:48:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22007983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: After the CIA does business with Hans & Decker, Curt and Owen get creative with the serums."There you go," Curt whispers. "You've officially won. I have nothing to play for."Owen tuts. "Now, under the traditional rules of strip chess, that would be true, but I have something else planned."Curt shuffles uncomfortably. So far, he has only succeeded in getting Owen's jacket off. "What did you have in mind?" He croaks, and Owen gives him a sly smile.
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Series: Spies Are For Sluttery [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1476398
Comments: 17
Kudos: 101





	1. Checkmate

"I can't believe Cynthia went ahead and did business with Hans & Decker," Curt says. He sits across the table from Owen in his apartment, a chess board between them.

"Well, now that they've proven themselves effective, she has no reason not to." Owen slides his rook forwards. "Check."

Curt scowls, and moves the king without really looking. "Yeah, well, it's the _way_ that they proved themselves that bothers me. Cynthia doesn't seem to care that I was held hostage and-"

"Check," Owen says, as he moves the bishop forwards. "As I recall, it wasn't that difficult to escape." His gaze is steady, and he lowers his voice. "Besides," he murmurs, "You seemed to have a pretty good time afterwards..."

Curt exhales, and turns his attention back to the board. "Stop trying to distract me," he grunts, as he contemplates the surrounding space. "It was intentionally easy to escape. That doesn't mean I appreciated it."

Owen rests his chin on his hand. "Really? I thought you enjoyed it," he says, and nudges Curt's bare foot under the table.

Curt goes bright red. "I did enjoy-" he remembers Owen, knelt beneath him, and closes his eyes. "I wasn't talking about _that,_ " he whispers, and clumsily moves a piece. "I meant being kidnapped and-"

Owen flashes him a smile. A piece slams down with a resounding _thwick_. "Check."

There's only one place left where Curt can move his king, and he feels the rush of impending defeat. "Shit," he says, as he makes the move. Owen moves his queen right behind him, trapping him into the corner.

"Checkmate," he grins. "You've really got to stop letting me win like this, Mega," he says.

Curt sighs.

Owen smirks. "I think you can take that shirt off now."

Curt obliges, but scoots his chair further under the table to hide himself. His cheeks flush a deeper red. "There you go," he whispers. "You've officially won. I have nothing to play for."

Owen tuts. "Now, under the _traditional_ rules of strip chess, that would be true, but I have something else planned."

Curt shuffles uncomfortably. So far, he has only succeeded in getting Owen's jacket off. "What did you have in mind?" He croaks, and Owen gives him a sly smile.

*

"Take your time. You're playing for your pride, after all."

Curt grimaces. He's not certain he has any pride left. With a prickle of self-consciousness, he moves the bishop to the centre of the board. The only thing it's threatening is a pawn. Owen frowns.

  
"What are you trying to do?" He coos, and then he sees it. "Ah..." He smirks, and castles lazily. Curt bites back his frustration, and goes to move his queen.

"Check," Owen sings, as he moves a rook across the board.

There are a couple more silent moves before-

"Check," Owen says again.

Curt takes the offending piece, but of course-

"You took the bait _again,_ my dear," Owen smiles. "Check."

Curt moves the king.

"Check."

Curt winces, and moves the king again.

"Checkmate."

Red in the face, Curt folds his fingers together on the table, and watches Owen. "So," he says. He eyes the pinkish liquid in the glass before them. "I just drink it?"

Owen shrugs. "In practise they'd probably inject prisoners," he says, "But this works too. Why, which one would you prefer?" He strokes his hand against Curt's bicep with a smug smile.

Curt shoots him a look, and picks up the glass. "Definitely this."

He downs it.

The effect, like last time, is almost instantaneous. Curt's pupils dilate, and his cheeks flush. There's a rush of blood elsewhere, too, and he laughs shakily. "What now-?"

The question is cut off, as Owen catches his lips in a kiss. He closes his eyes, and melts into it. When Owen pulls back, his eyes have taken on a familiar mischievousness, and he unfastens his belt.

"I thought we could experiment," he murmurs, leaning close to Curt's ear. He climbs into his lap, and grips his hair firmly with one hand, pulling his head back.

"Owen..." Curt groans, already painfully hard, and Owen smirks.

"Patience," he whispers hungrily, and kisses his exposed neck.

"It's- hard- to have- _patience_ when-"

Curt growls, and places his hands on Owen's waist, exploring his torso. He lifts the hem experimentally, but Owen grabs his wrists, stilling them, and climbs off him.

"You're not going to let me lead?" Curt whines, and Owen grins.

"Not this time," he says. "Get on the bed."

Curt exhales. "The price I pay for losing chess," he says.

Owen's eyes flash, and he places a hand under his chin. With a twitch of his hand, he raises it slightly, and forces eye contact, which Curt doesn't shy from.

"Get on the bed" he repeats, "Or I'll drag you there."

Curt stands unsteadily, and keeps his eyes fixed on Owen's. "I wouldn't object to that-"

In an instant, Owen has thrown him over his shoulder, and strides across to the bedroom. As he does, the belt buckle clinks. The door is already ajar, so he kicks it open, and rolls Curt, laughing, onto the bed.

"You promised to drag me," Curt says when he gets his breath back, but it's quickly ripped from him as Owen shoves his tongue down his throat. He kisses him roughly, torturously, fingers tugging hair, and finally pulls away.

"I _promised_ nothing, pet."

Now that he has Curt's attention, he begins to unthread the belt, loop by loop. Curt watches this, breath hitching, and twitches.

"Owen-"

"'Sir' or 'master', please- we _did_ have an arrangement," Owen smirks.

The leather whispers as he unloops it, and there's an occasional jingle as metal clicks together.

Curt whines, and touches himself wordlessly. In an instant, Owen's belt is free, and tied, firmly, around his wrists.

"No," Owen fastens it. "Only when I say to."

He strains against it. "Owen-"

He growls, and flips Curt over, dragging him half off the bed. He forces him to bend over, knees on the floor, bound hands resting on the edge of the mattress. Curt closes his eyes, dick twitching against his stomach, and moans with want.

Owen cups his ass firmly, and drapes himself over Curt's back. "You're being a brat," he whispers, directly in his ear, "So I'll treat you like one."

He presses his crotch against his ass, and slowly brings his fingers round to Curt's lips, which he caresses with his forefingers, grinding gently against Curt's ass.

Curt moans something which sounds faintly like "Owenmnnnmnnn..."

He tuts, and stills.

"Hnnh-?"

"Every time you use my name is another minute you won't come," he says, as he strokes Curt's face possessively. "And that _is_ a promise, my dear," he warns.

Curt hesitates, and tries to turn his head. "Owen- ahhhn!"

He tuts, and drags his head back. "Another minute without release," he taunts, lips brushing his ear lobe. "I'm counting."

Curt moans, and keens forwards against the mattress. "How... Many?"

Owen pulls him back by the hips, to prevent him from grinding against the bed. "Enough of that."

Curt moans with want. "Master," he says, like the word is killing him. "How many minutes?"

Owen wets his lips, and bends them against his victim's neck. "You love it, really, my dear." He kisses him once, then again, then twice more, and finally pulls back. "Four," he whispers. "You owe me four minutes, Curt Mega."

Curt grunts, and says nothing.

"Say it again, Curt. Say it like you mean it."

He shakes his head, fighting back a smile and a grunt, sore with desperation. "No," he whines.

Owen spanks him, hard, and Curt cries out.

"Some day," Owen says, rubbing circles into his behind, "I'm going to take you over my knee. But only-" he says, when Curt moans- "If you beg for it."

Curt purses his lips, and shakes his head.

"Not talking isn't going to get you out of this," Owen murmurs. "Five minutes."

Curt moans. "At least one minute has passed since you last-"

"Six minutes."

"- Master!" Curt moans. "Master, my master."

Owen spanks him again, twice, and squeezes his buttocks. "Five," he purrs. "But don't talk back."

Curt nods, tears in his eyes. "Thank you, master."

"Better. Like you _mean_ it, Curt Mega. I alone control whether you feel pleasure or not.

Curt whimpers. "I know that, master."

Spank.

"Uh! Thank you, master-"

Spank.

He shudders. " _Please_ let me come, master."

Owen growls, and pushes back up against him, stroking his waist teasingly as he stiffens against Curt's behind. "Feel me," he says, in a low voice. "Feel how hard I am for you."

"Hmmnnngnnn..." His eyes are screwed shut, his arms twitching, body begging, silently, for release.

"You're exquisite like this," Owen whispers. "So good for me, Mega, so good." He trails a lazy hand down Curt's stomach, and smiles against his neck. "This feels so _right_ ," he whispers, palming his hand across his belly, as he exploits his ticklishness. Curt struggles, of course, but he pins him down, flailing against the bed.

"You, undressed, completely in my possession," Owen whispers.

"S... Sir-" Curt moans, voice heavy with embarrassment, as Owen shushes him.

"You're mine, Curt Mega." He moves against him so Curt can feel the rub of his clothes against his skin. "I haven't even got my cock out, and I've already reduced you to this."

Curt shudders as hands brush his waist, his buttocks, his thighs. They dance so fast that it's all he can do to keep up, pressed against Owen as he is.

"I'd love to take you right now," Owen says. "It would be positively filthy." He unzips his trousers, and makes sure Curt can hear it. "I'd not even bother undressing," he whispers. "I'd just stick my prick in you like this, and take you from here."

Curt is still, so still, aside from the barest twitch of muscle- and Owen can _feel_ the tension, like a rubber band.

"Would you like that, Mega? Bent over the bed like a common whore?"

"Uhh..."

"You were just about ready for me to take you on the table out there, weren't you?" Owen grins. "You would let me sodomise you with a chess piece if it gave you release."

Curt jumps at that, yet still, says nothing. Owen places the slightest, bruising touch against his asshole, and withdraws it as he feels Curt shudder. _God, it feels so good,_ Owen thinks, greedy with power. He pulls Curt upright, supported only by Owen, trembling and helpless.

"I could ruin you," he purrs against Curt's ear, and laughs when he tries to squirm away. "I don't need to use my prick. I don't even need to touch you. You'd come on the slightest command."

"Hnn... Owen- my master," he corrects himself, squirming, "Can't take it-"

"Shhh..." He strokes his hair firmly, and whispers encouragement. "You've lasted longer than this before."

Curt shakes his head furiously. "The serum," he chokes, and presses back into Owen. "Hurts." He breathes heavily.

Owen spins him round, and leans him against the bed. Curt gasps, his eyes wet, as Owen checks him over. Slowly, he breaks into a cruel smirk.

"You can touch yourself now," he says, stroking Curt's fingers, and Curt struggles uselessly.

" _Please,"_ he says, desperately manoeuvering himself in an attempt for release. He strains against the belt, and makes a keening sound at the back of his throat.

"Please _what?"_ Owen says, watching him hungrily.

A single tear rolls down Curt's cheek. "Please let me come," he gasps, parting his legs desperately, frenzied, on-edge. Owen raises an eyebrow, and strokes his thighs slowly.

"No, that's not what I was after," he says, as he brushes a finger across the very top of Curt's tip. Curt shudders, and mewls when the contact stops.

"I'll- do- anything-" He grunts, and tries to rut against him, but a single hand on his hip keeps him down. He whimpers.

"Easy, easy," Owen coos. "As tempting as it is, that's not what I want." He runs a finger down Curt's length, which draws a squeak out of him, and more flailing. Owen tuts, and settles himself on Curt's legs, weighing him down. The struggle ceases, and Curt gives a watery sob, utterly defeated. Owen kisses him, taking his face in both of his hands, and strokes his face tenderly.

"Focus," he says, kissing the corner of his lips. "Focus, Curtis."

"I-" There's a shuddery intake of breath, and Curt shakes his head. "I don't-?"

"Beg me," Owen whispers, nipping gently at his neck. "Beg your master."

Curt moans, reluctance slipping away. "Master. Master, touch me, master, touch me, please, master, please-"

"Again, better. But we'll have you well-trained by the end of the night." He slides one hand around the base of Curt's cock, the other gathering his precum. Curt grits his teeth, determined not to make a sound, but Owen only laughs.

"No, my dear," he whispers, as he tracks the soaked hand between Curt's legs. "I expect you to lay yourself bare for me, to buy your freedom."

Curt weeps, openly, but his tears don't move Owen. _If he was truly upset, he would have used the safe word ('Checkmate')._ He's impressed by Curt's endurance, but he's not a cruel man. He withdraws a pot from his bedside table, and slicks his fingers with lube. Curt barely reacts, already pushed to the limit, but his eyes flicker with the slightest recognition.

Owen laughs. "I must say, despite your belligerence, you've been very good for me," he croons. "You've not come without permission."

Curt shakes his head, desperately. "I- _can't!_ It's the fucking _serum_!"

Owen tilts his head, considering. "An interrogation aid," he whispers, as understanding dawns for the first time. "Interesting." Then he gives Curt a biting smile. "I hope you wouldn't come without permission regardless," he says, mock sternly.

"I- always try," he says, breathlessly. Through half-closed eyes, he does all he can to maintain eye contact, and begs Owen silently. His face is stained with tears.

Finally, Owen takes him in hand, and pumps his cock mercilessly. Curt screams. At first, it's a release, but the pace doesn't slow, no matter how much he begs. It's not steady, it's not gentle- it's a punishment. Dizzily, Curt vaguely recalls the reason for it, and, when he opens his mouth again, it's not Owen's name that escapes, but one long, drawn-out moan.

"Master...!"

"Yes?" Owen says, as he continues the bruising pace.

"Fuck-"

"Talk to me, Curt."

"Uhh-" he twitches. "My master. Master, let me come for you, please, let me come." He takes a shuddery gasp, as Owen slides a finger into him, and crooks it. The second he does, Curt comes violently, in waves, like he'll never be empty, sobbing and choking Owen's name like a prayer. He collapses, spent, and Owen supports him, lifting him onto the bed.

Curt curls up, faintly aware of Owen's hands in his hair, fingers caressing and stroking him.

"Not a bad prize, for a game of chess," Owen comments.

Curt babbles insensibly, and Curt shushes him. "It's OK, my love; you did so well. So well."

Curt shivers. "Do you have the antidote?"

Owen sits up, and moves his hand to Curt's neck. His pulse is still racing, and he feels a twinge of guilt.

He squeezes his shoulder. "I'll get it."

Curt exhales. "Thank."

After he's fed Curt the antidote, and a glass of water, he feels a pang of worry. He shuffles closer, and presses a kiss onto his shoulder.

"Too much?" He asks after a while.

Curt smiles sleepily. "No." He curls into Owen's chest. "Sorry you didn't-"

"That's OK. I like pleasing you," he whispers into his hair.

Curt exhales. "Make it up to you."

"I don't doubt it." He smirks. "You're mine for another twenty three hours."

"And four minutes..." Curt's eyes droop, and he falls asleep.

Owen undresses, and falls asleep beside him in only his underwear.


	2. Chapter 2

Curt wakes up sprawled next to Owen, and rolls over. He groans.

  
"What's wrong?" Owen asks.

He opens a bleary eye. "How are you awake so early?"

"It's eleven a.m.," Owen says, as he puts down his book. He touches Curt's shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Chemical hangover," Curt grunts. "Whatever they put in that stuff hits hard, shakes your brain around a bit, and doesn't let go."

Owen frowns. "Want me to call Barbara?"

Curt grabs his wrist. "Don't you dare."

He laughs. "Alright, alright, fine."

Curt releases him, and stretches. "I'll be alright. Just... Go easy on me for a couple of hours... _sir_." He smirks a little, but hides his face in the pillow.

Owen runs a hand through his hair. "Ah, yes," he says. "I suppose we should probably get breakfast first."

A muffled "Yes."

The hand stills, and gives Curt's hair a tug as Owen stands. Curt reaches for the top drawer of the dresser, but Owen pulls him back with a growl.

"No, don't get dressed. I like you like that." He dresses himself, but watches Curt hungrily. "Besides, there's no point, I'll only make you take it off again."

He turns to leave the bedroom, but Curt hesitates.

"Something wrong?"

"I just..." Curt shakes his head, and takes a ginger step forwards.

Owen considers him for a moment. His partner is unaroused- although he'll soon change that- and gloriously vulnerable; laid bare. Despite all the times he's seen him like this, the thrill never goes away- not when he looks so shy, so meek, clearly moments away from shielding himself with his hands, which Owen thinks he might like- he might very much like- but it can wait. As usual, there is yet another element to add to his humiliation.

He smirks. "I see what the problem is. Fine." He watches Curt's face for the barest twitch of embarrassment, and, seeing none, continues. "I've got something you can wear." He gestures to the bedside table. "Bend over, and brace yourself on your elbows."

Curt's eyes widen, but he does as instructed.

"Good boy," Owen says. "Now, open the bottom drawer, and choose one."

There's a rattle as he does so, and his breathing hitches. "I- I don't-"

"Perhaps we can skip," Owen growls, "Unless you want to make this fast?"

Curt flushes, and points inside the drawer.

"That one, sir-"

"Take it, and prepare yourself," Owen says.

This time, when Curt withdraws a larger than average black plug, it's Owen's turn to be surprised.

"My my, we are feeling adventurous," he says appreciatively, and watches Curt withdraw a pot of lube from the drawer, and slide it shut with his foot.

"I thought it might please you," Curt says, as he slicks his fingers.

"It does," Owen growls, fighting to keep his erection down and noting- with amusement- that Curt is less successful. He keens, pressing one, then two fingers inside himself quickly, before adding a third. He clenches his jaw to keep from moaning, and works himself open.

Owen notes, with pleasure, that he has a semi.

"I've got something else for you to wear," Owen says, just to add to the challenge. Curt's cock takes interest in this, and he pushes himself upright, punishingly, as if willing it to go down.

"Hmng?" He manages, as he spears himself deeper.

Owen retrieves a leather collar, and places it against Curt's throat. Curt strains like a ballet dancer, although he's participating in a much different kind of stretching.

"Owen..." He hisses, and closes his eyes at the contact. Owen busies his fingers with the small clasps, and withdraws to admire his handiwork.

"Where's the leash?" Curt pants, and Owen chuckles.

"Patience, Mega. You need to eat first. You'll need your strength for what I've planned."

Curt laughs shakily as he eases the plug inside himself. Owen tilts his head to watch, and reaches forwards to push it deeper at the last moment. Curt squeaks and sinks into him, which Owen rewards with a kiss on the ear.

Curt shudders, and Owen can't help but indulge him for a moment longer.

He kisses his neck. "You're a good little slave," he whispers. "I should very much like to keep you."

"Fuck you- Owen, I'm getting hard," he whines.

He smirks, and ghosts his lips further down Curt's neck, before finally withdrawing. "Well, you _do_ still owe me those four minutes."

He holds his arm out to Curt, to escort him down the corridor. "Come on," he says. "If you're good, I'll let you kneel at my feet."

Curt eyes him curiously. "And- if I'm bad?"

His eyes twinkle.

*

While Owen cooks, Curt waits patiently, sitting on his knees with his ass on the floor, where the plug will cause the most sensation. It perhaps keeps him a little stiller, as he has a tendency to fidget otherwise, but on this occasion, he is imminently well-mannered. He keeps his chin up- and fights to keep other parts of him down- and is losing a battle to a rising blush. Owen eyes him as he makes French toast, and licks his lips.

  
"I don't know what part of the meal I'm looking forwards to more," he comments. A cheap line, but it works wonders when Curt is like this.

He grins; twitches, but resists the pull of his own wicked words. "You're beautiful like this- truly beautiful," he continues, and imagines cracking an egg on his shoulders, the yellows clinging to him like sunlight, the whites running down his back. He imagines, too, placing his hand under Curt's chin, fingers coaxing or prising apart sweet lips, something far more savory dripping in. There are many instruments of torture around them, and Curt Mega is so fun to torment, he doubts he can resist. But he must.

"You're like a canvas," Owen says, "And I can't express all the ways I would like to paint you." Perhaps he will ask Curt about the egg some other time, mention it to him through giggles and kisses. Still, the immediate desire remains. "The ways I'd like to mark you."

Curt exhales, and watches him with steady eyes. "I have some idea."

Now, finally, Owen places his fingers beneath his chin. "Oh, if you only could."

"How..." Curt shuffles slightly, regrets it, and inhales. "How do you have so much self control?"

Owen turns the oven off with ritualistic determination, and begins to lay the table. For a moment, he contemplates not answering- and perhaps that would be kinder- but instead, he gives Curt a wicked grin.

"Well, I'm not the one all wrapped up like a Christmas present." He frowns, and pauses. "Oh, wait. That's later."

"Owen..."

He laughs, and moves so he's standing over Curt, his crotch near his face. He hears the sharp intake of breath beneath him, and can't help but pushing closer, teasing.

"If I asked you to suck me off right now, would you?"

"Yes," Curt breathes, without hesitation, with almost- longing.

He smirks, and beckons Curt towards the table. "Crawl," he says, "I want to watch you."

Curt obeys, slowly, concentration evident as he struggles with the girth of the toy.

"I never knew you were such a size queen, Mega," he comments, as he slaps Curt's ass lightly. He stumbles, and looks up with wide eyes.

"There were hints," he gasps. "I was pleasantly surprised by yours."

Owen makes a low sound, and settles himself in the chair. He hooks a finger into Curt's collar and drags him closer, which elicits a small whine.

"Heel."

Curt does so.

He cuts the toast into smaller strips, and takes one piece for himself. He locks eyes with Curt as he does so, and chews slowly, making him feel every second of the wait. Finally, he swallows, and turns ever so slightly towards him in the chair.

"Open your mouth."

Curt obeys dutifully, and Owen brushes his free hand against his lips before lowering the morsel of bread. Maintaining eye contact, Curt licks his fingers ever so slightly, then takes the toast between his teeth. Owen inclines his head, and Curt continues eating, delicately, as Owen takes in every twitch of muscle.

"Good," Owen breathes, as he watches the Adam's apple rise and fall. "Another."

They continue like this for a while, Owen taking bites of his own meal in between feeding Curt, and he allows his hands to linger on his face, his cheeks, his chin; guiding Curt in little ways- subtly, possessively. He leans back in his seat, enjoying the view, devouring Curt's body with his eyes.

Once finished, he rises, and clears the table wordlessly. Curt remains frozen in place, not daring to move, but he can tell he's listening to his footsteps, trying to ascertain where he's going next. He places the plates in the sink with a clatter, a sound which he knows Curt will be particularly receptive to. There are a thousand possibilities; 'slave for a day' implies just as much menial domestic labour as it does sexual. He smirks, and turns back to his willing captive.

"I'll bet that's why you were so worried when I won you last night," he teases. "The thought that I'd make you do chores."

Curt exhales, but says nothing. Owen slinks towards him, careful not to make a sound on the wooden floorboards, and places a hand on his shoulder.

Curt jumps.

"Stand," Owen says, offering a hand, which he takes. He pulls him upright, and leans in closer. "Get on the table, on your back, and part your legs. Do not touch yourself."

He settles himself, precariously at first, curving the base of his spine off the table as he struggles for balance and comfort. Now on his back, he parts his legs slowly, and exhales. "Am I to call you 'master' again?"

Owen chuckles dangerously, and slides his shirt off. "You were never supposed to have stopped," he says, "But you're a stubborn man, Curt Mega. You take a little longer to break in; I understand that."

Curt's hands become suddenly rigid against the table, as if trying to clutch the smooth surface, then relax. "Thank you, master," his voice wobbles.

Owen growls, and unfastens his belt. Curt stirs with interest, and he smirks. "Not this time, my dear," he says, as he pops the button on his jeans. "I want you to demonstrate your ability to restrain yourself."

Curt stiffens, but nods. "You're testing me, sir?"

"I am," he says, as his hands find the base of the plug inside Curt. He turns it, ever so slightly, then twists it.

"Ohh..." Curt's eyes roll into his head.

"It's deep," Owen murmurs, as he moves to slide it out. "Kept you nice and prepared for me."

"Please, sir-"

The plug is released with a pop, and Curt _moans,_ writhing ever so slightly, but catching himself at the last moment. There's a burst of quick breathing.

"Thank you, master," he says, and again, claws the table. His fingers skitter against it, and he falls still, eyes only for Owen, transfixed.

Owen unzips his trousers, and pulls them down just enough, his briefs, too. Then, he leans forwards, pressing the tip of his cock against Curt's hole, and stills. It takes all his willpower to remain in place, not to push any deeper yet, but he strokes both hands along the underside of Curt's thighs, lifting one, then the other slowly upwards, where they come to settle across his shoulders. Curt arches off the table, and begs silently with his eyes, but Owen won't allow him the dignity of it. He gives him a knowing smile, and strokes the outside of his thighs again, appreciating the tracts of smooth skin.

"I needed this," he says, as he presses himself against Curt again. He moans, and Owen squeezes his leg. "I couldn't wait to fuck you into the table."

"Into?" Curt makes a choked sound, but it seems to have piqued his interest. They're close, now, and becoming closer, and Owen makes a barely controlled growl.

"I read you well," he says, stroking Curt's face, and admires having him at his mercy for a moment.

"You do," Curt admits, tightly. "Master." There's a pause, and Owen twitches against him, stroking two fingers down his neck, the others still on his leg. Curt inhales sharply.

"I was intrigued by something else you said yesterday," he babbles, keening against Owen, who grins, and moves the hand down to his stomach. Slowly, the other chases down his limb, joining the first, and move against sensitive muscle.

Curt, ticklish as he is, bites back laughter, and squirms. "Master- fuck- please. You said-" he shrieks with laughter.

"Oh?" Owen stills his hands for a moment, a twinkle in his eye. Curt breathes furiously, and struggles for words.

"You said-" he gives another choked sound of pleasure as Owen strokes his member, hands twitching and curling around the base. Then, he resumes work on his belly with a lazy hand, skating along his hips, his torso, his waist, as he moves the other hand against his tip, teasing him furiously. Curt moans and turns his head, pressing his cheek into the table. "You said- you'd _'sodomise me with a chess piece,'_ he growls, trying, desperately to unhook his legs and curve in on himself.

"Ah," Owen says, picking up the plug again. "I thought its shape was significant." The pointed top, the curved head, thinning down to one fine point that barrels outwards again. "It looks rather like a bishop, doesn't it?"

Curt makes a sound which implies this isn't an original observation, and Owen laughs.

"Later, then, I'll find another use for it," he promises, as he places the plug back on the table, and grabs either side of Curt's waist. He grabs the hips, holding them tight, and strokes the skin with a rough firmness. Curt exhales, and presses into him, as Owen slides in- slicked and warm and ready- and moans. He rocks into him once, twice, at a steady pace, as Curt lies on the table, unmoving for a moment, but Owen grits his teeth.

"Oh no," he warns. "I don't want you to lie there and take it, not yet." He pushes in deeper, sheathing himself in Curt, balls deep, and pistons himself in and out, once, twice, quickly. Curt cries out, throwing his head back as the speed increases, and he braces himself with his arms, moaning.

"Owen- mast- uh!" Curt manages, "Fuck-"

Owen exhales, and slows, focused on the depth and length of each thrust. As he moves, he strokes a hand up and down Curt's leg, and moves the other to his cock.

"Owen-"

He plays with the head, touching the tip too long until he cries out, and drags his fingers down his length. As he does so, he pulls almost all the way out, moaning as Curt tightens around his head, and fondles his at the same time. Curt whimpers, breathing erratic as Owen rolls back the foreskin and presses the sensitive beneath. Then, in between stroking and torturing him, he pushes himself, once more, all the way into Curt, thighs pressing the edge of the table as he rams his g spot over and over.

Curt screams, begging for permission to come, and Owen withholds it, for just a moment, as he holds Curt steady. He enjoys the needy twitch of his cock in his palm, and grants permission with the slightest nod of his head. Whether Curt sees it through his half-closed eyes, Owen will never know.

"Come for me," Owen gasps, close himself, as he fondles Curt's balls. Curt gasps, suddenly trying to hold out, perhaps taken by surprise-

And then, he's screaming, his hold tight around Owen as he shudders, spasming, half-restrained. He whimpers, "yes, Owen, yes-" and moans, gasping, just as Owen releases his control, and comes desperately, violently, within him.

"Uhh," Curt groans, spent, as Owen pulls out slowly, and places his palm over his asshole. Curt blinks, uncomprehending, as Owen feels the slick mess inside him begin to escape.

"We're going to try something, pet," Owen says. "Me and your bishop." He picks up the plug, making sure Curt can see it, and his eyes widen. "Would you like that?" He says, as he moves the plug between his legs.

"Master-" Curt nods, and Owen smiles.

"It's going to keep you nice and open for me, until I'm ready to use you again," he coos, as he removes his palm and slides the head in. Curt whimpers from overstimulation, and his legs twitch pathetically, fully spent.

"Mmm..." Curt winces, as some spunk dribbles out, and Owen pushes the plug in fully, enjoying the noises it pulls out of him. Then, he kneels, and licks away the spillage, which pulls a deep, unholy moan from Curt.

"You're a good boy," Owen praises, as he pulls away, redressing his lower half casually. He remains shirtless, and steps round the table, into Curt's view. "See how fully _owned_ you are; sated and well-fucked." He sits on the edge of the table, beside his head, and strokes his hair. "I've collared you mine, and you wear it well."

"Hmng-"

"Shh..." He tangles his fingers in Curt's hair, and holds him for a while, contented. "I wish I could keep you here, like this. Knowing you were waiting for me, every day-" he tugs his hair, which draws a soft sigh, then tugs again. "Wouldn't it be simpler, Curt? No games, no curtain's closed. I'd keep you kneeling by the door, until I got home, just like this..." He leans over, and places a glancing touch over the plug. Curt shivers.

"Yes," Owen whispers. "Every day you'd feel me inside you, and know you were mine. You'd never have to worry again; I'd keep you safe. I'd keep you satisfied," he says, his hands stroking around the edge of the collar, as Curt's eyes flutter.

"If that's the case, I'd quite like to keep the curtain's closed," he murmurs, with a sleepy grin.

"And that mouth!" Owen climbs off the table, and places a kiss to Curt's lips. "I could do sinful things to that mouth."

Curt lifts himself upwards, with effort, and kisses Owen deeply, clumsily. "Our sweet sin," he murmurs. There's a question in there somewhere, as his hands find Owen's wrists, and pull him down. For a moment, Owen lies on top of him, twisting his tongue against his, sucking the tip, and nipping, gently, at his lips. Then, he withdraws, breathless, and smiles; breathy laughter and lidded eyes.

"In between missions," he says, as he kisses Owen's chin. "You're mine. You're mine for now, and that's what matters," he says, resting his head on Curt's chest.

Curt brings his arms up to embrace Owen, and a smile creeps into his voice. "And... What else are you going to do with me while I am?"

Owen only smiles mysteriously, and kisses his collarbone. "If you're eager," he says, pulling him into the bedroom, "Then we'll begin."


	3. Truth Or Dare?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite the title, they do not actually play truth or dare in this chapter.

Curt perches awkwardly on his seat, discomfort evident, for he's still wearing the plug. He's unbound, but still collared, leashed and tethered to the back of the chair. He's blindfolded by a silk ribbon, and waits obediently. Owen watches the rise and fall of his chest, steady for now, and his gaze trails lazily down his naked form. Curt sits with his legs apart, on tiptoes, braced against the chair with his head tilted back.

"I'll never get tired of seeing you like this," Owen says. "You're so good for me, Mega; so good."

There's a clink of glasses, and he pours out a measure of blue liquid, then pink. He can tell Curt is straining to work out what he's doing.

"I thought it only fair to reverse our places from last time," Owen says. "Seeing as you have no experience with the truth serum, and I with your poison of choice."

Curt turns his head, following his voice, and his throat tenses. "It's stronger than you think-"

"Stop," Owen says, a silencing finger on his lips. "I've allowed lapses before, but here, you will remember my title."

Curt swallows, and hesitates. Then, all the tension falls from his shoulders. He nods. "Forgive me, master."

Owen strokes his face. "A wise choice," he smiles. "It may get harder to remember once you imbibe the serum, but I must warn you: every time you neglect to use it will incur punishment."

Curt's breathing quickens, and he nods again. "I understand, sir." His voice catches, and he grips the sides of the chair tighter.

There's the faint scrape of glass on wood as Owen lifts a glass off the table. This is the blue serum, and he turns back to Curt, who raises a hand to take it.

Owen catches it, and tuts. "Hands in your lap," he chides. "Mouth open, head back."

The softest exhale, then Curt tilts his head back a little and shivers as Owen's fingers take his chin, and force it, slowly, upwards. He places the cool glass to his lips.

"I love feeding you," Owen says. "I suppose you've noticed..." He traces the line of Curt's cheekbones with the back of his hand, admiring him tenderly, and keeps pouring until Curt's mouth is full. "Swallow," he says, and Curt does so, coughing, and shakes a little. "Bad?" He asks, stroking his face. Curt gathers himself for a moment.

"Not as pleasant, sir," he says, hoarsely, and Owen laughs.

"I suppose I've never drank it before," he comments, as he sets the glass down.

"Don't," Curt recommends, making a face. Then, quietly- "Master."

Owen grins to himself. He can already tell he's going to have a lot of fun. From the sudden tightness of his pants, it's clear he won't need it, but he downs his own drink.

The tightness... Becomes less bearable.

He's amazed at how quickly the side effects seem to take hold, and feels a fuzziness in his head. He's instantly warmer, glad he's shirtless, but needs more, and, as quietly as he can, unbuttons his trousers. He wonders if the effects are this fast with Curt, too, and moves towards him, smirking.

"Where are you most ticklish?" He asks, and Curt stiffens.

"O- on my neck, and behind my ears, but- PLEASE, NO, SIR-!"

Owen tickles him mercilessly, using his hands at first, then his tongue, restraining Curt with a lazy arm across each shoulder. As he alternates between kissing and licking at soft skin, he nuzzles behind his ear, satisfied to feel Curt tremble and whine beneath him. Then, once he reaches a fever-pitch, he bites, oh so gently, at the base of his neck.

Curt stiffens against him, and his breathing hollows out, as if his lungs are only just remembering there's so much more room underneath, unexplored, begging for support and space-

Owen slides his hands across Curt's waist and stomach, pinching a hip to prevent escape, twisting himself against every accumulated ticklish point on his torso. Curt writhes, his breathing so desperate it's clear he doesn't expect release, but, finally, the tension snaps.

"Please, Owen, master," he pants, turning his face into Owen's, snapping his head back. He kicks his legs out, straining against him. "Please- stop- I'll do anything-"

"Anything?"

"Urmhgmf."

Owen releases him, unties and takes hold of the leash; tugs on it and pulls him to the floor easily. "I think it's long overdue that you kneel," he says.

There's a hesitation, but the serum wins out. "I think so too, sir," Curt says, carefully.

Owen strips, unbothered by the swift rustle of fabric, and Curt uses the sound to locate him. Blindfolded as he is, he places an exploratory hand on his hipbone, edges forwards, and nuzzles his skin.

Owen grips his jaw, and has barely muttered 'Open-' before Curt swallows him down, clumsily, his fingertips gripping his buttocks. He deep-throats Owen once, twice, holding in place for a few sweet seconds as he runs his hands over him, touching wherever he can, desperately, before pulling back to Owen's tip and lapping at it with fervour.

Then he pulls away, gasping, and takes a few deep breaths.

"Slow down," Owen says, as he strokes Curt's hair appreciatively. "I'm not in a rush yet."

Curt moves forwards, bumps into him, and kisses his base. "You will be, soon."

Owen grips his chin, and slaps himself against Curt's face. "Oh, will I?"

Curt moans, presses his mouth against his length, and moans a belated 'Master-"

The sound is cut off as Owen plunges deep into him. Curt chokes, eyes brimming with tears, and relaxes around him.

Owen grunts, and forces his head back, burying himself deep in his throat. Curt whimpers, clinging to Owen's legs for support, and holds his breath as Owen fucks him roughly. Owen pulls out, gives him a moment to breathe, and then touches himself quickly, needingly. He makes small sounds as he does so, and Curt's hands move almost automatically to the blindfold. At the last moment, he freezes. "What's happening? Master?"

Owen pries his hands away, and positions himself over Curt's chin. "I'm going to come on your mouth, and I expect you to lick it away."

Curt's breathing quickens, and Owen guides his trembling hands to his balls. Curt obliges, massaging him as he pulls himself off, and, finally, comes on his face. Surprised at the speed of it, Curt jerks back, but steadies himself, making soft, surprised little noises as Owen empties himself onto him.

Once he's done, Curt runs his tongue over his lips, scraping his fingers across his face and licking them clean. Still blindfolded, he can't see the appreciative look that Owen gives him, so he smiles and strokes his hair.

"The potion is making you... Kinkier," Curt says, breathlessly.

Owen smirks. "It's making me... Unrestrained," he says, as he runs a finger across Curt's chin, gathering the parts that he missed. Then, he presses it Curt's mouth. "I have always been kinky."

Curt straightens up, and sucks his finger obediently. Owen moans, and kneels down to his level. He can already feel himself get hard again, impossibly soon.

"Do we know how long I'll last without the antidote?" He asks, as he kisses Curt messily, tasting himself on his lips.

Curt moans into him as he breaks away. "No, sir. But it could be hours." He flushes furiously. "And..." He wipes his mouth, licks the palm of his hand. "I want to see you, sir."

Owen smiles, and dutifully unties the blindfold. "I like you like this," he says. "Unembarrassed. Begging. Open with your wants."

Curt blinks up at him, and smiles, with wide eyes and equally wide pupils. "I thought you were going to spank me."

Owen raises an eyebrow. "Well, you have stopped calling me 'master'." He frowns. "Was that deliberate? Trying to goad me into it, Mega?"

He smiles mysteriously. "You don't need an excuse to punish me, sir. I can take it."

Owen groans, and hardens instantly. There are a great many things he'd like to say- and do- and he growls. "You have no idea- the effect on me- when you say things like that."

"I have some idea," Curt says, demurely. "Sir."

Owen growls. "Then prepare to be punished for it."

"Sir..."

He drags Curt by the leash, bringing him to the foot of the bed, and pulls the plug out of him. His cum from earlier dribbles out, and Owen is almost taken aback by the sheer volume of it. Then, he laughs, and runs his fingers through it, smearing some across his ass.

"Cover me in it, sir," Curt says, without shame. Quite wonderfully unlike himself, his desires laid bare.

"Fuck," Owen says, as he drags Curt across his knee. "In time, I will. In time." He sticks his fingers inside him, which elicits a low moan, and continues to play with his entrance with his other hand, getting deeper each time. He moves fast, going from two fingers to three, then four, then withdraws, and runs his hand across Curt's ass, contemplating where best to spank him. Curt, however, has other ideas.

"Are you going to fist me, sir?" He whispers, and Owen stills, his fingers drawing wet lines across his skin.

"Would you like that?"

Curt only moans. "I-" he nods, firmly. "Sir." He blushes, but perhaps not as much as he would without the truth serum.

"Fuck," Owen says, again, as his own serum takes control. Barely sensible, he continues to play with the cum, drawing small circles. "I- I would like to," he growls, "But I can't guarantee I'll be gentle. You are more passive than usual, and I-" he breathes- "Am an animal."

Curt turns his head enough to look at him. "I want to please you, sir," he says. "You need me. Use me."

Owen growls, and sticks three fingers inside Curt again, suddenly. Curt chirps, and Owen can feel him twitch against his legs. Fuck. 

If he were sensible, he would tease him- 'I never knew you were capable of such filth-' praise him, make love to him, but this goes beyond that. His fingers move inside him, more needingly, and he eases himself in, bit by bit, getting gradually deeper as Curt chatters, groans, grimaces, and finally, relaxes.

Owen strokes his hair with his free hand. "Are you ready?" He whispers. Curt leans into his touch, and grunts.

"Uh," he says, weakly.

"So good for me," Owen growls. He forms a fist, as requested, and Curt screams, patient and still, clearly wanting nothing more than to writhe, writhe in sweet agony, but he can't- doesn't- dare move, his face twisted into a beautiful mask of-

Owen moves his hand backwards, and Curt yelps, clutching the mattress in front of him, stretched to the limit and whimpering. Slowly, slowly, Owen eases forwards again, and retracts one finger, uses it to touch Curt's prostate. Curt sobs with pleasure, his cock pressed, tight, against Owen's legs, and Owen twirls his fist slightly, dizzy with power. Curt swears, and comes suddenly. His back arches as Owen pulls out, stroking his hair gently.

"That's it..."

"Hnnn-"

"Good boy."

"Umfg..."

Despite his own, impatient cock, he strokes Curt's hair, and lies down beside him, waiting for him to recover. It's Curt who finally breaks the silence.

"My cum's on your thighs," Curt whispers, and Owen presses gently against the back of his legs, transferring it to his skin.

"What a good towel you make, pet."

Curt shudders. "Thank you, sir."

"Get on the floor, so I can finish on your face," Owen gasps, and Curt scrambles into position. "Oh yes," Owen growls, rubbing a thumb across his chin. Some of the cum remains from earlier. "I'm going to honour your request many times this afternoon."

Curt moans, and closes his eyes. "Thank you, master."

Owen is so tightly-wound that it takes the barest bit of stimulation to set him off. The moment he touches himself, he finishes, holding onto Curt's jawline with his free hand and aiming clumsily, nothing but mess, as the two of them whimper and cling to each other insensibly.

"Every... release," he moans, "The need gets stronger."

Curt nods.

"It wasn't what I expected," he says, breathlessly. "It must have been... Hell for you," he gasps, thinking of the previous evening.

Curt's eyes grow concerned. "Do you want the antidote-?"

"No," Owen shakes his head, certain that if he stops, he'll die. "No; t-this is good. Intriguing. New. Just- be on hand," he says, "I'll need you when I recover."

Curt nods, and settles down, cross-legged, beside him. "As you wish." Pause. "Master."

"Hmngh."

That does it.

It only takes five minutes before Owen's hard again, and he's frantic, desperate, barely energised enough to talk, and yet, he must.

"Hands and knees," he growls, moving to push Curt into it, but he's already in position. He groans, murmurs something insensible over and over- sexy, kind, obedient, you're such a good fuck. Nowhere near his usual eloquence, but it's all he can muster as he kneels over him. Then, he falls into him, his hands tight on his hips, and Curt is screaming yes, yes, yes, the two of them as one, together, howling into an oblivion of pain that hurts so good, and endless, endless pleasure. 

He must pull out at some point, because he finds himself kneeling over Curt, spent and unspent, still aching with the desperate need of release. He inhales, and realises he's crying. Actual, shuddering sobs which burn his chest and lungs, but he shakes off Curt's concern.

"Don't you dare stop," he grunts, turning him onto his back. He registers wide eyes, pleasant surprise, the slight nod of a head. For the next two minutes, that head, that body, are pushed forwards and backwards against the floor, again and again, as he loses himself completely in the ecstasies of want. The crying ceases, but a haze descends, as he pushes himself desperately into Curt, faintly aware that all the pain will lessen as long as he obeys his desires. He should be shocked, for he's never lost control, but tonight it's gone, and he fucks Curt again and again, coming each time with more tears and moaning.

After that, the lucidity vanishes, and he's faintly aware of hands pulling him off, surprisingly gentle fingers, probing and lubricated, cleansing- cleansing?- and lips around his cock. He hums, and leans into it, his arms reaching for the angel, and muttering nonsensicalities, until he hears the question again, and refuses.

"No antidote. I want to see this through."

"But-"

"I want to see this through."

The pleasure continues, endlessly, stretching on forever, and he feels as if the urge will never die, never leave him, because, surely, he will die first. He is a vessel for a divine will which is not his own, and the effort will kill him, but he must, must continue, he must-

"Owen."

He twists, but whatever strength he had was gone, and he's lifted into- onto- into- something. Some foreign warmth. He slips in, and chokes, rises, spluttering-

"Owen."

He holds him in place.

"Let me help."

"Hmmgngnn?" Owen groans. "Just don't take it away..."

"Take what away?"

The pleasure.

Now he's gripped by something else, something he can't quite name. He opens his eyes, finds Curt kneeling over him, and realises, deliriously, that he's in a bath. He closes his eyes; he doesn't know how long for, but awakens to soft hands washing and caressing his body. He must have been out for quite a while, because Curt is now sitting opposite him in the tub, noticeably clean. Owen grunts, and pushes himself up as much as he can. 

"I'm supposed... To take care of you," he protests, and Curt gives him a lopsided smile.

"In this case, I think you can be forgiven," he says.

Owen frowns, trying to remember what happened. "The antidote?"

Curt shakes his head. "You saw it through," he says, quietly. "You were quite adamant about that."

Owen sees, then, for the first time, the bruised knees, the beginnings of purple around his hips. He sits up, a thousand apologies, unlaunched, in his mouth, which Curt dismisses with a raised palm.

"Are you kidding?" He laughs. "That was the best sex-" he cuts off, and chuckles, as he brushes a lazy leg against Owen's. "I wouldn't be averse to having more."

Owen winces.

"I'll never come again," he says, throwing his head back dramatically as he feigns collapsing. There's a splash, and he pushes himself up out of the water, to the sound of exhausted, soft chuckles on the opposite end of the tub.

Later, once they've somehow found the strength to crawl back into bed, Owen is distantly aware of Curt as he wraps himself around his torso, and rests his head on his chest.

Distantly, he slips into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, if I've made any spelling errors etc just leave a comment & I'll get round to them. My editing on this chapter may be a little patchy. I hope you enjoyed it regardless.


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